


Chess in Secrets

by helbrosi



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Jim knew first, Multi, Oblivious Spock, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helbrosi/pseuds/helbrosi
Summary: Jim has always seen his life as the ultimate game of chess where his crew are the pieces, Destiny is his opponent, and no matter what, he cannot afford to lose.OR The time when Spock realized his friend kept his secrets close to his chest and Jim confided (almost all of) them in him before he realized what he was doing, and found he didn't mind all that much.





	1. Bad News

A handful of roughly carved chess pieces – all different stones from all different planets – were thrown from the desk in his quarters. Jim stood frozen to the spot as time seemed to slow, watching the pieces arc over the floor before clattering like solid rain drops. It took him a moment to snap back to reality – which is when he realized the alarms were blaring and there was a cool hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you had asked Jim, he’d have said it all started with Sulu on the bridge of the Enterprise, before Krall attacked and everything went to shit. Back then, he at least felt like he was a good captain who knew the lives of his crew, but had humility to admit he was no expert. It shouldn’t have been as jarring, when one day, he learned something new about his helmsman and felt like an ass. He mulled over the sticky feeling in his gut after the end of meeting with Command and a hurried dinner as he rushed to a lower leisure deck. He and Spock had a standing game in the ship’s rec room unless one of them had other pressing matters or the chatter was too loud that a private lounge proved the better aid for concentration.

“Did you know about Sulu’s little girl?” Jim asked as he stormed into the lounge, eyes adjusting to the muted warm glow inside the room.

Spock’s eyes flicked up and back down to the chessboard he was resetting in front of him, silhouetted against the black gleam of space and its stars in front of the window. “I was aware Mr. Sulu had a family, but I did not know the age or gender of the child.”

Jim flung himself into the chair opposite. “He was fidgeting all through his reports because apparently it’s her birthday and he promised he’d call her in time for a bedtime story and didn’t mark it in the shiftmaster AI because it fell in the middle of Alpha shift.”

Spock frowned. “He would have been moved appropriately if only he had asked.”

“That’s what I said!” Kirk ran a hand over his face. “Anyway, I kicked him off the rest of his shift and threatened to put him on report if he didn’t make a point of it to ask for rescheduling next time he makes a promise like that.”

Spock was silent a moment longer, then looked up to meet Jim’s eyes. “Your threat suggests you are emotionally shaken by Mr. Sulu’s revelation. May I ask why?”

Jim glared at the board, his eyes furrowed. “I’m fine, Spock.” He moved a pawn forward to open, watching as Spock mimicked him not one square away.

“Your denial proves otherwise.”

Jim said nothing for a moment and moved another pawn forward, then murmured, “I sent him on that away mission just a few days ago. He was lucky he got out with all his limbs intact.” It was to a planetoid that had somehow managed to sustain an ecosystem, despite constant near-surface tremors. The away team got trapped in a cave because of one of these tremors.

Spock raised an eyebrow and leveled a stare at him, a pawn held still midair. “As Mr. Sulu’s expertise in botany is highly advanced, it was only logical that you include him on that mission.”

“But we knew everything was unstable!” Jim said quickly.

“May I remind you that without his knowledge, the rest of the away party would not have had access to the plant-based remedies that saved their lives.”

Jim said nothing, only staring hard at the board.

“Jim.”

Blue eyes shot up to meet dark Vulcan ones.

“They are fine,” Spock said, a softened tone to his voice. “Lieutenant Richards will recover and return to duty in a few days. Mr. Sulu–”

“–was so shaken by the time he got back, he forgot to check the time cycles and almost missed his little girl’s birthday.”

Spock said nothing, only leaned back and steepled his fingers.

“Move already, dammit,” Jim muttered.

“I did.” He tilted his head forward. “It is your move.”

Jim blinked, and looked again at the board. He moved a knight out, trying to get a sense of what Spock was doing. “Look,” he said low, “if he had died because I ordered him to an unstable site, his family would have gotten the notice just in time for the kid’s birthday. How would I have looked her in the face?” He shook his head. “Also I have no idea what you’re doing.”

Spock sat still a moment longer, then leaned forward and considered his pieces. “While I commend your sense of duty to each member as captain,” he began, eyes still fixed on the board, “may I remind you that all of us knew the risks when we accepted our assignments.” Spock moved one of his own knights forward, taking one of Jim’s pawns. “Losing one’s parent out in deep space–”

Jim sighed, shoulders going slack. “Spock, this isn’t about my family.”

“Affirmative.” Spock looked up and met his eyes. “Though your assumption that this would relate to your own family history shows surprising self-reflection.”

Jim glared at Spock, taking his knight in retaliation. “Rude. Insubordination.”

“Yet true.” He moved a rook forward to take one of Jim’s pawns. “You are a sound captain, Jim. I only ask that you do not bear the guilt of every injury sustained to a member of this ship.”

Jim stared at Spock. “Is that – a compliment? Did you just compliment me?”

Spock only raised a single eyebrow.

Jim laughed once and stared down at the board finally seeing some kind of opening. He moved his knight to block the path of one sneaky bishop.

Except Spock moved that same bishop elsewhere and then Jim threw a hand up in the air in frustration. He didn’t mention Sulu or his kid for the rest of the match, which he soundly lost to Spock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you had asked Bones, who really was the better one to ask, it had started long before, when the entire crew was waiting for Jim to recover from being dead and for the Enterprise to get repaired. Everyone in Starfleet was still reeling from the loss of their cadets and their captains, of course, but that didn’t mean any of them got much resting time. Scotty was running ragged fixing up his girl to the highest running standard, sending quiet reports to the PADD Jim had squirreled away. Uhura had joined some Starfleet sector focusing on processing requests from various ambassadors. She made it sound dull, but even Jim saw the proud way she held herself whenever she spoke about it during her short semi-weekly visits to see him, so it can’t have been all that bad. Chekov had been enrolled in some engineering classes (at Scotty’s insistence and expense) and kept planet side, showing Jim some of the new sketches he came up with. Sulu had been sent off to pilot some smaller ships farther out into the galaxy, but did send back pictures of cool things he felt the captain would have fun jumping over. Bones had stayed close, chasing a staggering Jim down for his repeated necessary (“My ass they are,” “Who’s the goddamn doctor here?”) follow ups and various highly classified meetings regarding what was left of Khan’s blood. Spock, though, returned to teaching, but split his time between the classroom and sitting in whatever wing of the hospital Jim was moping around.

Not that Jim didn’t appreciate the company or the conversation, but he figured Spock had more important things to do then watch him get stuck with twelve hyposprays a day and hobble around like a newborn deer.

“Negative, Captain,” Spock said from his seat against the wall of the physical therapy room without looking up from his PADD, “you only have two legs, and thus are far less coordinated than said deer.”

Jim smiled at him from the floor, wiping off the sweat from his brow and glad he had worked up the courage to ask him. “What, no comment about the ‘gross overestimation’ of hyposprays or something?”

“It – is not a gross overestimation.”

Jim grimaced. He set the rubber medicine ball next to his bent at his physical therapist’s direction and let it tug him back up to his feet. He turned to the therapist and thanked it for its efforts today, clasping the proffered taloned hand for a moment. When he turned back to Spock, the other man had already stepped closer to Jim, right arm bent and PADD tucked under the other.

“I hate being stuck here,” Jim muttered, trying not to lean too much on him. “I can’t imagine you like it any better, and you’re the healthy one.”

“I would be similarly occupied with grading my students’ papers no matter where I was on Starfleet’s campus.” Spock paused for a moment. “Do you not wish me here?”

“No, god, I mean yes, I’m glad you’re here, you’re the best chess player I’ve met in years.” They exited the therapy room and turned towards the lift down the corridor. “But I don’t want to keep you here just for my entertainment.”

“I assure you, Captain, I find it quite agreeable to remain here with you while you recover.” Spock turned the corner first, pausing to let Jim catch up. “Not only do I not require daily reports on your health from Dr. McCoy, but he is also similarly free to attend to other work and patients.”

Jim grinned. “And the fact that students can’t get in here doesn’t factor into that at all?”

Spock said nothing as they turned another corner and stepped into the lift.

“Well?” Jim asked, pressing the button to his floor.

“Your statement does not contradict what I have already stated.”

“So you are avoiding your students!”

“Among – others.”

The lift dinged and its doors slid open with a slight whoosh, allowing the pair to step onto their floor and around the small crowd waiting for the lift. Once the hallway was quiet again, Spock spoke. “The reporters have been relentless,” he said low and close to Jim’s ear, “and as they are only kept out of academic buildings, I find my choice of recreational spaces limited.”

Jim turned to look hard at his friend when they reached his door. “Spock, please tell me you’re able to return home and sleep.”

“Affirmative, Captain.” He maneuvered Jim into the room and towards his bed, lights in the white room slowly coming on. “It would be illogical to forgo sleep for the sake of avoiding reporters, who too must sleep.” He then sat in his usual white hospital chair facing Jim.

Jim groaned slightly as he sat down on his bed, waving a hand when he saw Spock leaning forward. “I’m fine. So, what you’re telling me is you go to teach class, come here, and then at some point sneak away to your place when normal people are sleeping?”

Spock’s mouth was a thin line and kept his eyes fixed near Jim’s pillow. “That is not an inaccurate summary, despite how you are–”

“Are they really that bad?”

Spock raised one eyebrow. “When I leave my apartment, there is a daily twenty-eight-point-seven percent chance that I will run into at least one reporter before I have reached Starfleet campus.”

Jim scoffed. “Oh come on, that’s not even that awful. I know I’ve never been a fan of the press, but if it means you’re able to walk about in daylight, can’t you just–”

“Jim, I do not find myself eager to relive the moments my friend and captain died before my eyes,” Spock said firmly, his tone just measured enough to keep Jim from snapping back. He met Jim’s eyes and stared until Jim was the one to look down at Spock’s shoes. “I have already issued a press statement per Starfleet protocol, and do not wish to indulge those who would tread upon what little personal time I have left here. If that means using Starfleet’s underground tunnels more frequently to see you in peace, then I would have it.”

Speechless, Jim swallowed. “Sorry, Spock,” he said after a few moments, eyes flicking back to his friend’s. “Wanna thrash me in a game of chess?”

“I would find that agreeable, Jim.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. McCoy swept into the room dressed in his medical whites and muttering under his breath in the middle of Jim and Spock’s second game, which Jim was well on his way to losing.

“Bones,” Jim said, sitting up straighter, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Are your eyes in pain, Jim?” Spock asked, eyes still fixed on the chess board set up on a tray between them.

“No – it’s an expression, Spock.”

“You spent at least three weeks whining that everything hurt,” McCoy said, aiming his tricorder near Jim’s head. “It’s not exactly a stretch for anyone to take you seriously.”

“Seeing you makes it all better.”

“Can it.” Bones aimed the tricorder at Jim’s chest now. “How was therapy today?”

“Fine, nothing hurt too much to move. Back’s still sore, but that’s because no one lets me walk it out like I keep saying.”

McCoy sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“What? Why?” Jim furrowed his brow. “I’m going spare here, just laying down all damn day, when–”

McCoy glared at Jim over his tricorder, who promptly shut up. “Better. Now, I’m asking, because Command wants to know if you’re fit to attend the officers’ mixer tomorrow. Shut up,” he added loudly, over the sound of Jim throwing his head back and groaning loudly.

“Bones, c’mon, don’t release me just so I can go to a goddamn mixer–”

“You wanna get the hell out of here? You attend the damn mixer.” McCoy exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “That’s Command’s offer. You show up, have your picture taken a million times, make a speech, and you can go on your merry way, so long as you still show up for check-ups and therapy.”

Jim’s shoulders slumped. “I hate the dog and pony show, Bones.”

“Who doesn’t.” McCoy didn’t even show he appreciated the old adage. “I’m supposed to be right there with you, making sure you don’t collapse or punch someone.”

“Aw, you know I don’t punch anyone before they’ve punched me.”

“Like hell you haven’t.”

Jim huffed, looking down at the chessboard. As much as he had enjoyed spending time with Spock that was largely uninterrupted, he really was getting tired of being so drained every day. He hated hospitals, no matter how nice or homely they were. But Command asked a high price for his freedom. “How many reporters are going to be there?”

“I don’t know Jim,” McCoy sighed, “but this is a pretty public showing. United show of force, or something, I haven’t really been following–”

“This mixer is a chance for officers who survived Khan’s devastation to meet with those who are filling the roles of those we lost.” Spock was still looking at the chessboard when McCoy and Jim turned to him. “This will be Starfleet’s first chance to show the Federation that we remain uncompromised, and, as the saying goes, have had adequate time to lick our wounds.” Spock moved his knight to take Jim’s rook and then met both of their eyes. “Doctor?”

McCoy’s frown was back in full force and he just harrumphed. “Well doesn’t that just fill me with confidence. Look, Jim,” McCoy turned back to his friend, “you want outta this bed, and I want you outta my rounds, but I’ll be damned if I turn you loose just to make Command look good while you’re in pain!”

“I’ll be fine,” Jim rolled his eyes, “I won’t even complain if you have to stick me with twenty hypos beforehand. I’ll play their game.”

McCoy wagged a finger in his face. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that. Now, where’s that damn PADD you stole from me last time, I need to update your charts.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Jim was leaning against the wall of the dark ballroom, staring up at the muted colors of the Starfleet banners hung between dark pillars. Why they had chosen a freakin’ mixer of all things, Jim would never know. He was waiting for Bones to come back with a drink for each of them and fidgeting with the with the collar on his dress uniform.

“You are aware, Captain, that pulling at your collar will not add additional fabric?”

Jim shot Spock a side glare to his left, not even surprised that the Vulcan had found his way to Jim’s side in this moment. “Not funny,” he said. “You meet anyone fun yet?”

“Several of the newly appointed officers have passed through my classes, and I find them quite adequate.”

“Spock,” Jim drawled, turning his head and knocking his shoulder into the man lightly, “that’s not what I asked.”

Spock turned, his hands clasped behind his back. “Then I must admit I do not understand the nature of your question.”

“Fun!” Jim smiled slightly. “Y’know, someone with a temper, or a mean left hook, or – something worth staring at.”

“I am curious how your definition of ‘fun’ so often includes violence.”

“Chalk it up to illogical humanity, then.”

“Indeed.” Spock turned back to survey the crowd. “Most individuals whom I have met tonight asked me if it was true that I nearly killed the criminal Khan some months ago.”

Jim perked up, standing up straighter. “Oh yeah? You give them any good details?”

“I corrected their assumption that I had no intention of killing him, but rather only stopped when he was granted better utility alive then dead.”

He blinked, looked to his stony faced First Officer, and barked out a laugh. “You sonuva bitch,” Jim smiled, “please tell me that’s exactly how you said it too.”

“It was.”

He snickered, shaking his head and pushing off from the wall. “C’mon Spock, let’s see if we can find out where Bones got to. Maybe he’s schmoozing.”

“Unlikely,” Spock said by his shoulder, “as the doctor was even more reluctant to come here than you were.”

“Hey, you never know,” Jim said, weaving his way through people, “maybe he found someone who’s fun!”

The pair greeted some of the wide-eyed officers, staying no more than a few moments to introduce everyone. Jim thought he saw the top of Bones’ head near a bartender, maybe –

“Kirk! Jimmy, is that you?” a familiar voice called out.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath, before whirling around and looking for the shit eating grin directed his way. “Gary?”

Gary Mitchel stepped out from behind a passing officer and into Jim’s space, giving him a tight one-armed hug. “Good to see you, Jimmy! We all heard you were dead!”

Jim met his hazel eyes and forced an easy smile, though honestly it wasn’t all that hard when Gary’s warm gaze and olive skinned face were focused solely on him. “Me, dead? Nah, just a rumor they spread around to scare the kids.” He tucked his hands in his pockets, nodding at his old Academy friend. “How about you, any new crew members? You still a helmsman?”

“And first officer now,” Gary preened. “Newly minted, they don’t even have a ship or captain assigned to me yet.” He raised an eyebrow and his smile turned almost lascivious. “Say, didn’t you have a falling out with your XO?”

Jim laughed once, wondering what face Spock was making. “Almost, but we smoothed things over. He’s actually–” he turned, expecting the Vulcan to be standing by his left shoulder, but there was nothing except empty space. “Well he was just here. Must have found somewhere better to be.” Bastard.

“Such a shame, then.” Gary stepped closer, his eyes slowly traveling up and down Jim. “We would’ve had a very good run, if I had the chance. Say, you bu–”

“Jim! There you are!”

Both Gary and Jim turned towards the sound of a boisterous, almost drunk McCoy pushing through the crowd. He had a glass in each hand and a goofy smile on his face – only goofy because Jim couldn’t remember the last time McCoy’s smile wasn’t terse.

“Hey Bones,” he said grabbing the man’s arm to steady him. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nope!” McCoy pushed a glass into Jim’s hand, but the fact he didn’t spill any of the amber liquid gave him away. “Hey, look, it’s Gary!” He slapped Gary’s shoulder with his free right hand, causing the man to jump a little. “Nice to see ya, but Jim,” McCoy latched onto his arm, “you gotta come, this one bartender is on fire–”

Jim let himself be dragged deeper into the crowd, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ over his shoulder at Gary.

Gary waved him off and winked, turning back into the crowd.

Jim sighed and turned back to McCoy, “Alright Bones, where is this bartender?”

“Hmph,” McCoy grimaced, tugging his friend out of the crowd and rounding on him next to a pillar. “I leave you on your own for five minutes and you go and find that stinkin’ little snake, Gary!”

“Woah, woah!” Jim raised his hands in mock surrender, even while holding his glass. “I was walking with Spock to find you, and he came out of nowhere!”

“The Captain is correct, Doctor.” Spock stepped from behind Jim and turned to consider them both. “I took the liberty of hailing Dr. McCoy while the you were occupied . Evidently,” Spock held himself stiffly, “I was even more wise to do so than I realized.”

Jim narrowed his eyes at Spock. “What has Bones told you?”

“Nothing, Captain, I assure you. But the nature of the conversation did not seem welcoming.”

“You’re damn right it’s not,” McCoy said. “Jim, after all that happened back in the Academy, and you’re fine to cozy up to him again?!”

“No one was getting cozy!” Jim insisted, shoving lightly at McCoy’s shoulder. “Look, drop it, I’m fine, he’s fine, it’s all ancient history. Now, if you’ll excuse me–” Jim knocked back his drink in one quick gulp, “–I seem to need a new drink.” Then he turned and walked off, dodging a seething doctor’s hand by wedging into a tight group of officers.

“Damn fool,” McCoy muttered before he took a sip of his own drink. “Spock? You remember Gary’s face, right?”

“Affirmative, doctor.” He glanced at the shorter man beside him. “If I may ask, what–”

“Nope,” McCoy said quickly, holding up his free hand to stop Spock’s question. “That ain’t my secret to tell. But, and this is important, you ever see his ugly mug again,” McCoy lowered his drink and met Spock’s eyes head on, “you hightail it out of there and make sure Jim is with you.”

Spock merely raised an eyebrow at the doctor.

McCoy sighed. “He’s real bad news, Spock, the kind you make sure to never write home about.”

Spock turned his eyes back to the crowd and said, “I fail to see why you are entrusting this singular duty to me, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed and run a hand through his hair. “Aw, what the hell. Call me Leonard.”

He paused. “As you wish, Leonard.”

Leonard took a swig of his drink, then said, “Look, you know Jim. He’s a bastard, but he’s not without emotions. And you did a damn fine job looking out for him.” He turned to Spock. “Now if you ever mention I said this, or this conversation, or hurt Jim, so help me I will find a way to infect you with an incurable disease and make it look like an accident. Shut up,” he cut off Spock who had opened his mouth to speak, “because after everything, Jim trusts you, so that means I’m stuck with you.”

Spock tiled his head slightly. “I admit I am confused, Doc…Leonard.”

“Yeah? Which part?”

“You are sure Jim – trusts me?”

“The man played chess with you,” Leonard said flatly. “The only two other people he’s played with since the Academy are me, and that bastard Gary. When it comes to Jim, that’s as sure a declaration as anything.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” Leonard shook his head and knocked back the rest of his drink. “But you will.” Then he clapped the Vulcan on the shoulder once, and turned away to rejoin the crowd, leaving Spock to stare.


	2. History Explodes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim takes the advice for a little getaway - but at least he isn't alone. And he stumbles across way more than he bargained for, because of course. Just a note, the word "AG-two" is short for allergy group two, which will get explained more in the next chapter.

The sun was setting behind the man, seated and bent over a painstakingly cared for tri-D chess board. The light washed out everything except the man and the board, but that was okay, because Jim had no intention of looking anywhere but the middle-aged farmer. “If you’re going to play,” Mal said, rough hands setting up the chess board, “always make sure your opponent is someone you respect. That way,” he looked up and smiled, lines crinkling the dark skin around his bright eyes, “should you lose, you will always respect the loss.”

Jim shot up from his bed gasping for breath and gripping the sheets tight in his fists. It took him a few moments to unclench his hands and run one over his face while the other he flung out, searching for the bedside lamp. He managed to flip it on and only groaned a little at the sting of light in his eyes. He looked to the clock glowing green beneath the lamp and sighed; it was only a little after 0400. But if there was any chance that the dream of a dead man would be waiting for him, it wasn’t worth trying to go back to sleep.

He flipped back the thin, sweat-damp sheet and swung himself off the bed, padding quietly out of his bedroom. He prepped his coffee machine, preferring to brew it the traditional way when he was on planet, at least. He was glad that he’d gotten his own place while the _Enterprise_ was being repaired (or completely overhauled, if Scotty’s increasingly irate reports were to be believed), if for the sole pleasure of walking around before dawn in his boxers without the fear of waking Bones. When the coffee was finished, he poured a mug, reveling in its earthy scent. He took it across his small living room and plopped himself into the squishy couch, legs stretched before him. He reached for the PADD he had left on the low coffee table and started sifting through the dozens of the messages he’d been sent in the night.

In the months since being released from the hospital, his days were a flurry of meetings and briefings with command, interviews with potential new crew members, and avoiding over-eager cadets looking for his autograph. He rarely got a chance to leave the campus, and when he did slip away, it was to meet with as many families of his lost crew members as would see him, extending more heartfelt regret and grief than could be expressed in an Official Starfleet Condolence. Those nights usually ended with his dress uniform rumpled on the floor, metal tools scattered on the coffee table, and whatever bottle he managed to sneak back onto campus with him held right to his mouth. Bones had found him like that only a handful of times, which spoke volumes of how busy medical was. He saw Spock only a little more frequently, since they had official meetings together and afterward would spend a few moments catching up. Spock explained that as his classes were coming to an end, his students were getting even more insistent about tracking their professor down before finals. Jim almost felt bad for him.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he missed pestering his two closest friends – and wasn’t that a change, listing Spock in the same category as Bones. He was looking forward to getting back on the Enterprise, but until then, he figured talking to another old friend would make up for the slight ache in his chest. Gary had been quickly assigned to the _USS Bradbury_ as its helmsman and chief officer in the wake of Captain Abbott’s death and had shipped off not long after the mixer. He and Gary exchanged messages when they could, their schedules not usually lining up due to the nature of space travel.

Okay, so Gary had actually reached out first, but Jim wasn’t going to bat at semantics. Like him or not, he missed Gary, and he was going to be damned if he let something like left-over feelings get in the way of them being friends again. Speaking of, Jim opened up his personal messages and saw the most recent one from Gary, which he must have gotten some time in his sleep.

>>We both know I won that fight. Also, please tell me as captain you get better than replicated coffee

Jim smirked, setting his coffee down to tap out a quick reply.

>>go ahead and lie to yourself. not a captain perk, but I’m planet side and the coffee is killer

Jim took up his cup again for a sip of his coffee and flipped back to other messages from–

CHIRP. Oh, incoming message.

>>Morning there, sunshine. You’re not usually up this early in my shift. Did we lose more time?

>>couldnt sleep, rough night. how much is more time?

>>Forget it. So, fun night?

Jim laughed once, but it wasn’t a sound of mirth. God, he and Gary hadn’t talked properly in ages, and he still heard the tone Gary would have used for that damn simple phrase, the arch of his smirk and just how close he’d lean in. The man really hadn’t changed at all, which was comforting and not in equal measures. He thought for a moment about his last night, how the gin had tasted as he picked through his tools and didn’t think about the sobbing mother who gripped his hands so tight earlier that evening. He shook the thought away.

>>no. none at all  
  
>>Why not? You used to be fun.

>>getting too antsy down here

>>Aren’t you supposed to ship off soon?

>>shakedowns in a little over a week. its killing me

>>Yeah you never could wait for a damn thing. Cute faces like ours don’t wait for mortals

Jim rolled his eyes, imaging the chuckle Gary was having right now. Damn flirt.

CHIRP.

>>What about a little R&R?

>>maybe, but I cant be gone long

The silence stretched, so Jim went back to his coffee and sifting through other message streams. He saw one from Chekov, who was celebrating the end of his classes, but was itching to get back on the _Enterprise_. Apparently, he still had some questions about how the warp core cooling systems were adapted to the shuttles on the ship since–

CHIRP. Jim flipped back to his messages with Gary and saw a line of coordinates punched in, floating above a small map rendering in the stream.

>>Check this out. Got my favorite bar, favorite pleasure den, and a brand-new sourcing station for the Fleet Museum within a few blocks of each other. Even if you’re in nerd mode you can’t turn that down

Huh. Jim hesitated only a moment before he pulled up the map to take a closer look. The planet wasn’t actually that far away by commercial transport, and if he planned for a trip of like, four days max–

CHIRP.

>>Also I convinced Cptn to dock us there for shore leave in three days time

Oh. Well, if that was going to be Gary’s angle, at least he was being up front about it. Jim sighed, setting his PADD down on the coffee table beside him. He stared into his mug, swirling what was left. To be fair, he was probably owed a few days to himself after coming back from the dead and inspiring all of Starfleet as their golden poster boy. And if Gary was there later…well, they were both adults. If something happened, Jim would simply enjoy what he got and deny anything had happened if Bones managed to find out. And if nothing happened, then he’d still get to be friends with one of the only people who put up with him in the Academy and have a few days to rest. It was a win-win.

Though, if he was being honest, it felt surprisingly good to know Gary still wanted him after all this time.

He grabbed his PADD from the table and started looking at transport times to the coordinates. When it came to booking, he paused. He didn’t really want to make the trip on his own, but Spock had commitments to his students and Bones was still really busy at medical. Also, Bones would probably not be happy if Gary showed up halfway through their little vacation. Then he had an idea.

He shot up from the couch and almost ran back into his bedroom, PADD and coffee still clutched in his hands. He dropped the PADD on his bed and reached for his comm on the bedside table. “Kirk to Chekov,” he signaled.

Nothing but silence for a few moments.

“Chekov?” he signaled again. “C’mon, wake up kid.”

“K-keptin?” Chekov replied, voice thick with sleep.

“There ya are. How would you like to go on a little adventure with me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim looked out at his window as the ship pulled into sight of a planet growing bright and smiled. He turned right to Chekov, whose head was lolling in the seat next to him, and gently nudged him. “Hey, kid, wake up,” he said lowly.

Chekov shifted and inhaled, lifting his head up blearily. “Are we there yet?”

“Welcome to the Omnicron Delta region,” Jim said, nodding out the window as Chekov leaned a little into his space to see. “We should be landing within the hour.”

Chekov groaned, head thumping back against his seat. “If we have so long, then why am I awake?”

Jim couldn’t help laughing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the ship had docked, Jim woke Chekov up again to get their small bags together and de-board. They each had brought a light bag, since they were only staying three nights.

“Keptin,” Chekov asked, stifling a yawn and stepping out of their row of seats, “what is the name of this planet?”

“Funny, it doesn’t actually have one.” Jim followed Chekov out of the row and down the aisle of the small ship. “It’s the only viable planet in the region, but not actually under Federation control, so there’s no formal name.”

Chekov stepped off the shuttle onto the station platform and turned to give Jim a look. “Then how is there such strong Starfleet presence?”

Jim followed him and walked at his side, shrugging. “Some good trade deal, I guess. Locals lease out this one city to the Federation, and in return, Starfleet keeps passing by to check on it when no one’s home.”

“I do not understand, Kep–”

Jim sighed. “Look, at least call me Kirk if you’re not going to call me Jim.”

“But–”

“We are not on duty, or on any kind of official business, so me being a captain is irrelevant.”

Chekov’s eyes seemed to bug a little, but after a moment, he said cautiously, “K–Kirk?”

Jim smiled, turning and clapping Chekov on the shoulder. “Good man. Now, let’s get out of here.”

The depot was packed with beings, but it wasn’t hard to maneuver around everyone. The ceiling was relatively low, but the building itself sprawled, full of chairs built for a variety of body types bolted to the floor. The color scheme was very muted, intended not to offend anyone particularly sensitive to colors, but it just added to the list of reasons why Jim wanted to get out. After almost twenty minutes, he and Chekov stepped out into the warm afternoon light and flagged down an aircar taxi. He gave the driver the details of their hotel, and less than ten minutes later, they were pulling up to a low building. He swiped his credit chip before Chekov could and they both stepped out of the car.

“We could have split it–”

“I know, I know,” Jim cut him off. He spun around getting his bearings, and down the street, he saw what he wanted. “There,” he said, stepping closer to Chekov and pointing at the bright steel and glass of the building at the end of the road. “See that? As soon as we drop off our bags, we’re heading there.”

Chekov peered around until he saw the building Jim was gesturing at, and made a noise. “Is that– that’s not – but I didn’t–”

“Something the matter?”

Chekov whirled to face him. “Kep – Kirk, that is the Vostok Spacecraft Gallery! It has _only_ been open for the last three standard months. How did–”

“Breathe, kid,” Jim urged, smiling slightly. “I didn’t pick this place, a friend of mine did.”

“Your friend has _very_ good taste.”

Jim smirked. “C’mon, let’s at least dump our bags in the room.”

Once they had checked in and left their bags on their beds, Jim was nearly running to keep pace with Chekov out to the sourcing station. The navigator kept rambling about how a certain wing paid homage to the old Russian Space program, and of _course_ they were going to see the collection of local ship wreckage that didn’t make the cut to be in the big museum and do you think–

“–I mean, it may be very presumptuous of me, but do you think we could see could see some of their current holdings?”

Jim smiled. “We’ll see. We’ve got two members of Stellar Seven right here, anyway.”

Chekov blushed at the phrase, his babbling quiet. “I still think that is a ridiculous name.”

Jim shrugged. “Media will run what it wants. And hey, why complain if it gets us in to special floors?”

Chekov grimaced, but he didn’t say anything as they climbed the few steps up to the front door. Jim slipped forward easily at the ticket booth, an easy grin on his face. There was an Orion sitting there who’s face erupted into a bright smile, their dark curls loose and springy. “Greetings! My name is Litaz, how may I help you?”

Jim leaned against the wall of the booth and said, “Oh well we’re just Starfleet officers here for a few days off.” The Orion sat up a little straighter as Chekov came up to stand at Jim’s side, their eyes slipping to him. “Thought we’d check out this sourcing station, since it’s brand new and all.”

“Of course, Jim,” they said, after a moment’s hesitation. “May I see your SIDs please?”

Both Jim and Chekov fished their IDs from their pockets and wallets and handed them over to Litaz.

They stared down at them for a minute, then looked up, eyes darting from Chekov’s face to Jim’s. “You – you’re –” they stop and gape for a moment. “Oh my heavens. You’re actually them.”

Chekov blushed while Jim laughed, turning to glance at his friend. “Yeah, we’re us.”

That shook Litaz out of their stupor. “Sirs!” The shot up from their seat to stand. “It is an honor to welcome you to the VSG, and–” Jim noticed Litaz’s gaze lingered on Chekov, “we all thank you greatly for your service.”

Jim nodded, his expression more sedate. “At ease, Litaz,” he nodded. “We really are just here on leave, not trying to cause a fuss.”

“Oh no, I mean, of course.” Litaz handed back their IDs. “All Starfleet officers are offered free admission to the Museum and its sourcing centers. I’d be happy to provide you with a guided tour during your visit.”

“We do not mean to inconvenience you!” Chekov piped up, at last.

Litaz turned to Chekov and his smile widened. “I assure you, it’s standard procedure. Besides–” Litaz’s cheeks grew slightly darker green, “–I am quite the fan.”

“We’d appreciate whatever you could do,” Jim said, overriding Chekov’s sputters.

“If you wait momentarily, I will clear the tour with my supervisor.” Then Litaz was nearly sprinting away.

Chekov gasped. “How do you do it, keptin?”

Jim rolled his eyes, but the young Russian wasn’t watching. “Do what?”

“Are you always this calm when – when people _recognize_ you?”

He snorted. “Pavel, Litaz may be a little star struck, but they are definitely _not_ swooning at me.”

Chekov looked at his captain with wide eyes, then immediately turned around and walked in the direction Litaz had gone.

Jim sighed, dropped his head for a moment, and tried to keep pace with his navigator once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim had to admit, Litaz not only knew their Starfleet history, but was also a rather compelling tour guide. They fielded each of Chekov’s questions with genuine ease and wide smiles. Jim followed along and let the information wash over him, daring to enjoy the tour. Most of the minutia of who had signed what treaty for what archeological rights didn’t really stick, but he was able to recognize a ship or two on display.

“And here,” Litaz said, stopping by a sealed glass case, “is one of the oldest pieces of Terran technology in the VSG.”

“A rover!” Chekov exclaimed.

Jim raised an eyebrow, peering over Chekov’s shoulder, who had basically plastered himself against the glass. “Well there’s something right out of middle school history.”

Litaz beamed. “It was found in this quadrant, the farthest that a solar-powered rover has ever made it.”

Jim whistled low. “Now that is impressive. What’s it date from, late twenty-first?”

“Closer to the early twenty first century, our historians believe.” Litaz looked over the rusted hunk of metal and glass, face twisting into a small grimace. “Most likely it comes from sometime during the Dark Years, because we can’t find any record of it before or after, and it is markedly similar to others from those decades.”

Both Jim and Chekov stared at the archaic rover in silence for a moment. The Dark Years were aptly named.

Then there was a tiny gasp somewhere to Jim’s left, and he turned to see a small Vulcan child staring at them with wide eyes and mouth slightly open. They held their hands at stomach level, not quite wrung, and stood rigid the moment Jim turned, frozen to the spot.

Jim couldn’t help but smile and wink, raising his hand in the ta’al.

The child blinked for a moment before returning it, then turned and ran in a swish of dark robes.

He chucked briefly to himself and wondered if Spock had ever been that cute as a child. The child’s skin looked darker than Spock’s, and their face was rounder, but the austerity of the haircut was the same. Jim let himself ponder briefly what a young Spock would have been like as he turned back and tried to catch up with his party. They were standing away from the main floor space, near a corner that had a couple doors and elevators hidden unobtrusively.

“–f anyone has any issues, it’ll be the Lieutenant Commander,” Litaz was saying fast, “but I can’t get a hold of her and I need her approval to open up the elevator–” Then their communicator chirped and they stepped away to speak.

“We’re going to the reserve floors, Keptin!” Chekov said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you believe it?”

“Scotty’s going to be so pissed he missed this,” Jim huffed, holding back a full laugh. “And didn’t I just tell you to call me Kirk?

Chekov had stilled. “But you are my keptin in these halls.”

Jim sighed. He had a point. “Alright, but no “captain” when we hit the town later.”

“I’m –” Chekov swallowed and glanced over at Litaz, “I was going to ask you–”

Well that was definitely progress. “If you’re making other plans, Chekov, just say the word and I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh no, no no!” Chekov waved his hands a little frantically. “I was going to ask if – if I could invite him? If you didn’t mind, that is.”

“Of course I don’t mind. But I won’t be offended if you want some time alone.”

The Russian shook his head and didn’t meet Jim’s eyes. “You are – good with tension. I am not so good.”

Jim clapped a hand to Chekov’s shoulder. “Chekov, Litaz is loving whatever you’ve got going. Still, I’d be happy to be there for you.”

Chekov met Jim’s eyes again and swallowed. “A-are you sure?”

“Course I am. I’m sure he’d be delighted, and maybe he can even show us more around town while we’re here. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything, keptin.”

“Whatever happens, not a word of it gets back to Bones.” He’d have his head the moment he checked his messages.

But Chekov just grinned fiercely. “As Mister Scott says, ‘You can’t spill what you don’t remember.’”

Jim couldn’t stop the burst of laughter this time, and he shook his head. What on earth was his chief engineer teaching the young ones?

Litaz rushed back. “She gave the green light! She’ll send up the elevator in a minute.”

Chekov started vibrating again with excitement while Jim asked, “So, are we going up, or down?”

“Upstairs is mostly administrative,” Litaz said, gesturing them to follow closer to the elevator “but there are a few smaller inspection rooms up there. The sub-basements are where the real fun happens.”

Jim threw a smirk quickly at Chekov, who’s eyes were glued to Litaz. “What kind of _fun_ are we talking?”

The Orion caught Jim’s look and the corner of his mouth raised. “Oh, well it’s the major analysis floor,” he began, shifting his attention to Chekov, leaning forward just slightly, “so a ship may be ripped apart, but all the pieces are there. Last stop before the parts transferred for either scrap or cataloguing.”

“And what ships do you get?”

“ _All_ kinds, from jump ships, to shuttles, to cargo–”

At that moment, there a chime and the elevator doors slid open. Inside stood a short woman with long black plaited hair and grease stains all over her the pants of her navy jumpsuit uniform. Her brown face had just a hint of lines etched around her eyes and mouth, but gaze was sharp, and she held herself proud despite being shorter than all of them. She was wiping more grease off of her hands with a rag. “Ah, Ensign,” she greeted roughly, causing him to snap to attention, “good to see you again.” She turned to Jim and Chekov, and clucked her tongue. “Stars alive, it is you.” She extended her right hand to Jim. “Lieutenant Commander Akila Patwari, sir.”

Jim took it and shook it firmly. “Captain Kirk, but just call me Jim, I’m on vacation.” He gestured at Chekov, who had also reached out to shake her hand. “My chief navigator, Ensign Pavel Chekov.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir!”

She nodded and waved them inside the elevator, sliding the door closed on her control panel. “You haven’t been promoted yet, hm?” she asked.

“Hah?” Chekov floundered. “Me? No no no, I don’t have nearly enough years.”

She snorted a dismissal. “Shame, with a brain like yours. And you,” she eyed Jim, “you’ve given him a commendation already, haven’t you?”

Jim stood a little straighter, clasping his hands behind his back. “Of course. He’s crucial to the survival of the ship.”

She simply raised an eyebrow of him, somehow even more pointed than Spock.

“Aren’t they still calling it the ‘Enterprise Britannica’?” Litaz piped up from the back.

Jim glanced at Chekov and saw he was blushing. “The papers are still throwing around that one?” He exhaled, head inclined. “Well, I can’t say they’re wrong.”

“I think it’s ridiculous,” Chekov mumbled, but still loud enough to be heard throughout the lift.

Lieutenant commander Patwari laughed once, low and dark. “The media circus, yes, but it’s not every day a constellation class sees that much action and yet puts out so many abstracts.”

“Indeed not,” Jim replied, smirking.

After another moment, the lift dinged and the doors slid open with only the slightest of whooshes.

“Well folks,” the Lieutenant said as she stepped out and turned to them, “you’ve just stepped into one of the best kept secrets of this quadrant. Welcome to the Beta Floor.”

Jim stepped out, followed by the other two. He saw a number of different small ships and shuttles in various states of disrepair around the floor, though it felt more like a hanger or a docking bay at this point. Other staff in jumpsuits similar to the Lieutenant were examining the different artifacts, pulling ships apart and taking notes on what they found. It was a surprisingly open floor plan, despite the numerous hazard hoses and safety signage in place. No one really paid much attention to their small party, which Jim was secretly thankful for. He’d come here to get away from the media and the avid fans – well, mostly anyway.

Jim turned to look at a stunned Chekov and just clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t forget to breathe, and come find me when you’re done.”

Chekov swallowed audibly, gave his captain a fierce smile, then gestured for Litaz to follow him with a glint in his eye that reminded Jim of the chief engineer more than he really wished to contemplate.

“They grow up so fast,” Jim mock-crooned to the lieutenant commander who had moved to his side. “But really,” he said more seriously, turning to her, “thank you so much for allowing me and my navigator down here. It’s such a privilege.”

She nodded. “The honor is mine, Jim. You’re the first big name we’ve had down here since the opening, and even then I’m sure you’ll appreciate our work more than the admiralty parading here.” She started walking away from where Chekov had dropped to the floor and gestured for Jim to follow her path. “I noticed you had signed your name to a couple of the abstracts that crossed my desk.”

“Were you expecting all looks and no brain?” Jim asked, eyes flitting to an engine cracked open on a nearby metal table.

“Hardly,” Lieutenant Patwari scoffed. “You’ve earned your title, and all that comes with it.”

“That is, ah – not a popular opinion at the moment.”

She harrumphed. “I happen to have it on good authority you sacrificed yourself for your crew.”

Jim felt his heart skip a beat, but he did his best to play it off. “That’s one way to tell the story."

“And not the one they’ll run in the papers, I know.” She sighed, her expression softening. “This facility followed Section 31 in terms of technological advances, though it takes two sister sites plus mine to begin recovering what was lost there.”

He exhaled. “Is that why you allowed us down?”

“Not in the slightest.” She stopped in front of a door that led to an office set into the wall of the room and punched her code into the datapad. The door beeped and slid open, and she gestured for him to sit on the low couch beneath the large wall-length window in the dimly lit room. “I had no idea you’d be coming here so soon after the incident, but I saw no reason not to grant you a visit. Would you like something to drink?”

Jim glanced around her office, settling into the couch. “Anything cold and free of AG-two’s will do, thanks.” While her back was turned, he noticed her desk was cluttered, but the rest of the office was very tidy. A few shelves behind her desk held personal affects – a few framed photographs, a few choice books, and what looked like a couple engine parts.

She turned and walked over him, offering him one of two tall glasses of amber liquid. Frost has already begun to form on the outside. “Local drink to beat the heat,” she explained, sitting in an armchair across from his couch and separated by a low table. “Hope you don’t hate sweets.”

Jim took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised. “Almost like a rich barley tea I had back at the Academy.”

She nodded. “From that café in the biology building? That’s what I thought.” She took a long sip. “I did expect you to come by at some point, but through an official event. I planned to introduce myself then.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”

She paused, then exhaled and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “I’m friends with your mother.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Well – as much as that woman allows herself to have friends.” She took another sip, then pointed out the window. “If you look over across the floor against the far wall, you’ll see what’s left of the jumpship Khan used to pull off his attack on HQ. You wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork I had to sign to get it req’d out here.”

Jim blinked, turning around to look at the ship closely. “I – didn’t think the brass would let it out of their sights.” The outer layer had been peeled back to expose more mangled bits of frame, draped with some kind of tarping and too charred to be overtly recognizable. No one was working on it at the moment.

“Guess who convinced them otherwise.”

Jim looked into his drink. “Do I even want to know why she did it?”

“Perhaps. With the fall of Section 31, there aren’t many other Federation facilities left that can do the right kind of analysis, and she wanted a chance at dissecting it properly.”

He said nothing, just took another sip of his drink.

“Jim.” She had placed her hand on the table between them. “She wasn’t going to tell you because she doesn’t want you to think you owe her anything.”

As if he would. “And where’d you get that idea from?”

“We were at the Academy at the same time, but I graduated after her. Winona likes to play herself above the fray of politics and friendships, but she follows the Engineers Code as much as any of us.”

Jim said nothing, the phrase, ‘The legacy of one lies in the hands across the galaxy’ running through his mind in Scotty’s voice.  “Not sure how that has to do anything with me.”

She shrugged. “It’s her way of caring. I’m just helping her out how I can, as I am helping you.” She pointed an index finger at him. “Chekov is brilliant, but young, I’d hate to see him underestimated because of his age.”

Jim smirked into his glass. “That’ll never happen, while he’s on my ship.”

Just then a comm chirped. “Uh lieutenant commander? This is Ensign Litaz again.”

She reached for hers and said, “Go ahead, ensign.”

“Can I request yours and the captain’s presence? Chekov needs some assistance with a ship.”

Jim silently rolled his eyes and nodded, placing his glass on the table and standing up.

“We’ll be there shortly. What’s your position?”

“Bay 22.”

“Hold tight, we’re making out way over.” She returned the comm to her belt. “I hope that does not spoil your visit here.”

He paused, wondering how much truth she had earned. “Not enough to prevent me from visiting again. But let’s just find out what the boys have gotten up to.”

They left the office and wove their way around ships and various stations of mechanical deconstruction, occasionally getting a nod from one of the working staff at the lieutenant commander. Jim thought he heard muttering coming from them, but Bones did always say he had a big head. They walked a bit more before they stopped in front of a pretty battered shuttlecraft, the identifying numbers mostly worn away by age. Litaz was standing next to it looking agitated, and there was a pair of legs sticking out from the lower engine access panel.

Upon seeing them, Litaz leaned down to the open hatch. “Pavel, they’re here.”

There was muffled yelling, probably in Russian, before the rest of Chekov’s body slid out from inside the ship. “Keptain!” He exclaimed, grease stains already on his face, framing the creases of frustration. “I do not understand something.”

Jim was already pushing up his sleeves. “What’s the matter?” He dropped to the floor to follow his navigator into the panel.

Chekov pointed his flashlight into the bowels, focusing on a cluster of wires just at the edge of his arms reach. “This makes no sense.”

“What am I looking at here, Chekov?” He stared at the bundle of wires. “I’m not familiar with this model.”

“It’s commercial, but Litaz says the records state it was found it abandoned on a Class K planet within the year.” He huffed a sigh. “Keptain, I should be able to see these wires.

Jim blinked. “What are you talking about?”

 _“These_ ,” Chekov emphasized with a wave of the light. “Federation standard wires are clearly marked for those of us with color vision divergences. These,” Chekov gestures again, “are the wrong color _and_ have no identifying markings.”

Jim scrunched his face in concentration. The kid had a point. “Okay, but if it was abandoned–”

“Keptain, everything else in this section is impeccably standard.” He exhales again. “What am I missing?!”

Jim followed one end of the bundle, and saw that its wired into boards configured for the ships cooling system. He followed the end with his eyes and see they’re –

Jim’s eyes went wide and he double checked, coming up with the same conclusion. “Chekov, get out of here.”

“What? But kep–”

“That’s an order,” he repeated firmly, scrambling out of the compartment. “How long has this been on?” he demanded from Litaz.

“This shuttle?” Litaz flustered. “Uhm, just before I called you an–”

“We might still have time,” Jim muttered, eyes flitting about the shuttle in a quick estimation while Chekov came to stand beside him. “Lieutenant commander, I need you to evacuate the floor.”

“What cause–”

“This ship is rigged to blow!” Jim exclaimed.

Patwari didn’t hesitate, just snapped to attention and her hands flying to her comm. She input some code and the lights over the floor changed from bright white to flashing red as the klaxon horn blared. Then she spun around, barking orders into her comm as the trio rushed to follow her lead.

“How did–” Chekov began, his eyes wide.

“You were right, he wires were not Standard, and I didn’t recognize them,” Jim said tersely as they jogged. “But they were wired back into the system to cause a–

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because in the next moment, there was a deafening boom and a bright swell of fire and light from behind them. The force threw Jim into the air and forward, at least several meters if he had to guess. He crashed into one of the tables with a disassembled engine on it, throwing his arms up to try and cover his face. He landed hard enough to shove all the material off the table and onto the floor, sliding about another meter from impact. Pain seared through Jim’s left shoulder upon impact, and his head spun. The alarms managed to rouse him back to some level of awareness, the red lights and flames turning the scene before him when he managed to sit up into something out of his nightmares.

At least this one had automated extinguishers lower from the ceiling and try to combat the chemical fire.

Jim looked around, trying to see who had made it out okay. There were a few figures who were running about from spot to spot, and probably yelling, but he didn’t hear them above the noise of the alarms. Wow, were they noisy. Jim turned to see a figure with dark green skin and curly hair hunched over their arm on the floor on his left. He turned to his right to look for the other one, the other–

There was no other one.

Jim thought that was strange, and pushed himself up, slipping almost twice and still ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. The other one, the kid was right behind him, he can’t have gone far. He took one step, then another, then saw the sprawl of legs from behind another spacecraft.

Oh. The kid had been thrown headfirst into the spacecraft, and now he was on the floor. Not moving. Jim stumbled over and fell to his knees next to him, bracing for the impact with his one good arm. He reached out with his right hand, fumbling for contact with the kid, and found his neck. There had to be– 

Yes, a pulse, weak, but there.

Jim reached for the comm at his belt only to grasp at nothing. He tried to look down, but had to go slowly, or else the world would spin away and leave him. There was nothing on his belt. Probably knocked off when he crashed.

But the kid still had his comm, so he reached out for it, and chirped the first contact he could think of. It was muscle memory, really, he couldn’t tell you who the contact was even if you asked, because he moved to sit down next to the kid, back against the ship and holding his wrist to make sure that weak, super weak pulse was still there. Someone would be coming soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting so long for this update! Don't worry, the next chapter is already in the works and will (hopefully) be up in a couple more weeks. In case you're worried, Jim will be fine and the POV of the next chapter. Comments are lifeblood, but anything is appreciated. Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to bit a bit of ride. I know the overall arc, but the number of chapters keeps going up. Comments are everything. Thanks for giving this a shot.


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